


Kur Esate, Aš Būsiu

by Iactura



Series: Historical One-Shots [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Character Death, Character Study, Eastern Bloc, Gen, Heavy Angst, Historical Hetalia, Lithuania - Freeform, Soviet deportations in Baltic states, set in 1951
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 17:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iactura/pseuds/Iactura
Summary: "Where you are, I will be"In 1951 Lithuania, there are only two colours left. On the grey eve of his deportation , one man makes his final stand.Remember, heroes are always be buried in red.





	Kur Esate, Aš Būsiu

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Insidiosus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10603152) by [Pokytoad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokytoad/pseuds/Pokytoad). 



> Note on the title: 
> 
> "kur esate, aš būsiu" means "where you are, I will be". In this story, the narrator is a human version of Lithuania (Tolys) but Lithuania the personification also exists. However, instead of having a human form, it is a spirit that exists within all citizens of the country. Hence the title which essentially means that the country will always be where its people are. This phrase as well as "aš prisimenu, kodėl esame laisvi" and "strelyay v menya" are borrowed from Pokytoad's amazing series "A Vessel of God" which inspired me to write this piece.

Even though people surround him, he stands alone.

Pale fingers, rigid with cold, grasp the tattered notebook. The howling winds attempt furiously to rip it from his grasp, but the pain of separation gives him strength. Hair wild, frost dusting his face, he remains still, unflinching against the screams of children and stabs of bayonets, reflecting the harsh moonlight like bleached bones.

“ _Lietuva_ ”, he whispers, in the language that they try so hard to rob from him. He had made his vows, sworn on his brother’s bible while they fought in the forests.

So he stands, defiant and proud against the invaders. He sees the others, young and old, men and women, being led into train carriages like sheep to the slaughter. Snow falls in thick sheets, covering the battle-torn ground in a layer of dirty grey. Everything is monotone, from the downcast eyes of his people to the faint silhouettes of trees in the distance, a veil of ash.

The only colour he saw was red. Red on the uniforms of their oppressors, red on the walls of the train and red in the blood bathing the land, as if in a mockery of baptism.

He knows that the entire country will be reborn through a revolution of blood. Through the sacrifice of his brothers, he prays that they will not be forgotten, that they will not disappear from the Earth and their existence reduced to hushed whispers or another addition in the graveyards of history.

They have taken all his people had. They collectivized their lands, massacred their families, suppressed their history and banned their language. No one here fears death – he knows that as sure as he knows the anthem of their forefathers – so instead, they seek to steal their very identity.

Enveloped by the cacophony around him, he waits patiently. People stream past him and soon he is the only one left.

They circle around him, a pack of hungry wolves looking for their next victim, and bark at him in the guttural sounds of a barbarian tongue, eyes alight with sadism. He holds his ground and stares straight ahead, refusing to show a single sign of the weakness that will make them lash out with steel claws outstretched.

Rage burns within his breast, pulsing in time with his heartbeat, and a desire for revenge, forged by fire through centuries of suffering and humiliation, is tempered into a deadly blade by the pain of hope so viciously snatched.

With the power of a hundred thousand silenced voices, he screams their defiance into the night.

_U_ _ž laisv_ _ę!_

A smile twists the corner of his lips as he spreads his arms, for the first time in his life proud and unafraid.

_Strelyay v menya!_

The words ring out, echoing through the land, a message for the world to hear.

In unison, the rifles release their load. A volley sounds but even as his body jerks with the impact and his knees buckle, he smiles through crimson-stained lips, victorious.

Yellow pages tear free from his notebook, born high by the wind. On each sheet, a white knight charges bravely atop his mount.

Green forests bear silent witness to the nation’s last stand.

Red paints the snow yet again, a hundred blooming poppies for a hero’s funeral.

His eyes close and he hears the final blessing of his homeland.

_A_ _š_ _prisimenu, kod_ _ė_ _l esame laisvi._

**Author's Note:**

> Historical Notes: 
> 
> Not too much to say. The instance I described is not any specific deportation but it is closest to Operation Osen, the last large scale deportation of Lithuanian peasants. It happened in Autumn/Winter of 1951, in October and November so I am not sure if in reality it snowed. Please accept this small use of artistic license as i tried to capture more of a mood and atmosphere than individual details. 
> 
> Overall, 35 mass deportations saw over 130,000 civilians forcibly transported to labour camps and other remote settlements in the USSR. About 70% of this number were women and children. Additionally, around 150,000 Lithuanian partisans and political prisoners were deported to Gulags. 
> 
> After the death of Stalin in 1953, the deportations gradually ceased and the last deportees were released in 1963. Around 23,000 deportees died due to harsh conditions and labour. Eventually, only around 60, 000 managed to return to their country. Similar tragedies happened in Estonia and Latvia, as well as other parts of the Soviet Union.


End file.
